


Evermore

by timetravelingsherlockian



Series: Evermore [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: And then dying declarations of love, Dean Winchester Likes Taylor Swift, Dean Winchester is Cursed with Taylor Swift, Declarations Of Love, Episode Fix-It: s15e20 Carry On, Fix-It, M/M, Mentions of Taylor Swift, Other, Post-Episode: s15e20 Carry On, Summoning, Their shared love language is not talking about it, This is just soft tho, that’s literally what the OCs are for, we are resurrecting our gays
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-14 17:07:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28924068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timetravelingsherlockian/pseuds/timetravelingsherlockian
Summary: Dean isn’t particularly closeted or repressed. He figures, living together, raising a kid, he was probably somehow angel-married anyways. He just figured Cas wasn’t well, like that. Lots of people, angel and not, were different like that. After his confession, Dean knows he was wrong.Now, with the help of a small coven of Hellers, an impatient Empty, Taylor Swift, and Heaven’s revolving door. Dean and Cas travel to each other to finish their last conversation. And maybe, stay in my room tonight? If that’s cool?I mean, we’ve probably been angel-married for years, now.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Dean Winchester & Dean Winchester Jr. (Supernatural: Carry On), Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Series: Evermore [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2158989
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18





	1. Gray November

**Author's Note:**

> Destiel went cannon for the 5th, maybe 6th time, with Dean’s lovely, heartfelt speech. Here’s some fic to celebrate it. 
> 
> Everything is written, and I will be posting updates every Thursday or Friday. It should be 5-6 short chapters.

Angels aren’t like that.

So they lived in the same bunker. They raised Jack.

That dumb sonovabitch stayed up late to have movie nights with him. He tried his best not to die.

Dean was too old to start dealing with it. Having an existential crisis or all that shit. Sure, whatever, ‘ _You Need to Calm Down’_ . Don’t ask him to turn it off when it switches to _‘Everything has Changed.’_

It was different now, in some places, he’d been told. And he knew Sammy was woke and Dean’s not a literal demon anymore or anything. But he was too old for that shit.

Whiskey dick wasn’t helping anyway.

So they raised Jack.

He swindled pool and went home with his winnings and Cas.

He made coffee.

And he didn’t have to know.

He heard there were a lot of options, these days. Married without the sheets and the sweat and the kissing. Angels were probably like that.

They probably already were some weird angel thing.

Dean doesn’t ask.

He helped Jack with his homework that Sam assigns.

_“You’ve got me mistaken for the angel that’s in love with you.”_ That’s what Gabriel had said. He was an archangel. He should have known. But he had said plenty of untrue things.

Maybe he was something. Maybe he wasn’t. Cas was his best friend. He was family.

So he was good. He was happy with his life. If this was what it was gonna be.

Except—

“I love you, Dean.”

Like what?

Angels don’t—

_“Don’t do this.”_ Don’t tell me and just leave. Don’t send it in here. _We’ll figure out another way_.

Except we don’t.

𝄋 𝄋 DC 𝄋 𝄋 

_Chapter 18—Despair_

_...Dean’s face is drawn, drained of hope. But still beautiful. Still Dean Winchester_. 

...Shiiit.”

**_hellar-or-high-water_** ohmyChuck keep reading.

**_InezWinchester_ ** Is he gonna say it?

**_ineededaurlsothisiswhatigot_ ** “He’s gonna say it.”

The three friends heard Jessalyn crunch on her popcorn through her mic.

**_King_rowena (he/him)_ 🍿**

**_ineededaurlsothisiswhatigot_ ** “Thanks Dan.”

The crunching stopped. (Jess was a stress-eater.) There was the quiet sound quality only achieved by hiding under a duvet with a flashlight and phone speaker.

**_ineededaurlsothisiswhatigot_ ** “ _K-kmm._

_‘There’s something,” Castiel begins to reveal, ‘One thing—strong enough to stop her.’_

_Dean glances sceptically at Cass—then stops. Cass is dead serious. BOOM—Cass coming clean..._

_..._

_“Cass is lit up, ready to speak his deepest truth.”_

**_InezWinchester_ ** No.

**_hellar-or-high-water_** He’s not going to say it.

**_InezWinchester_ ** Chuck really wrote this?!

**_King_rowena (he/him)_ ** He’s going to kill him off right afterwards. My bet

**_ineededaurlsothisiswhatigot_ ** “The Winchesters never stay dead.”

**_hellar-or-high-water_ **Another classic bury your gays.

𝄋 𝄋 DC 𝄋 𝄋 

Four friends (spiritually) huddled around a spine-cracked fresh paperback. Jess, the business analytics major and the one who drove past the bookstore, read through the voice chat. They were too old for this shit. Jobs and journal papers and their own budgets for funko pops and paperback merch that doesn’t come from their Christmas money.

The friends were no longer 14 and borrowing their mom’s paperback rag because it had a pentacle between the muscled dudes on the cover.

Jess looked up from the 50c ink page. Typed:

**_ineededaurlsothisiswhatigot_ **Simultaneously the gayest an most homophobic series, you guys—

**_ineededaurlsothisiswhatigot_ **Sorry, Kai

**_ineededaurlsothisiswhatigot *_ **clowns.

**_hellar-or-high-water_ **I’m just glad I have a literature degree for this.

Dan practically heard them cracking their keyboard in anticipation. 

**_king_rowena (he/him)_ **Well, you know what you’re writing your thesis on.

**_hellar-or-high-water_ **Honk honk. 🤡 🤡

**_hellar-or-high-water_ **Does he say it back?

Jess flipped pages. Unmuted her mic.

**_ineededaurlsothisiswhatigot_ **“Uh...nope,” she confirmed over voice-chat, “I’m not seeing it.”

**_InezWinchester_ ** Isn’t there a spanish version?

**_ineededaurlsothisiswhatigot_ **“Yeah," Jess replied, "but you’re going to have to translate it for us.”

**_king_rowena (he/him)_ **I’m going with too stunned to speak.

**_hellar-or-high-water_ **Nah. Chuck silenced him. Probably backspaced his keyboard or something.

**_ineededaurlsothisiswhatigot_ ** “Don’t worry. I think Chuck dies in a few pages.”

**_InezWinchester_ ** That’s why his estate released this shit

**_InezWinchester_ ** right?

**_ineededaurlsothisiswhatigot_ ** “I bet. Last few bucks for his relatives before we all blow up.”

**_king_rowena (he/him)_ **Didn’t some long-lost nephew or grandson take over or something?

**_ineededaurlsothisiswhatigot_ ** “Jack? Yeah. I think that was the thing.”

**_InezWinchester_ ** So do you think he’s gonna write Cass back in?

**_InezWinchester_ ** *cas

**_ineededaurlsothisiswhatigot_ ** “I don’t think so. He’s gone on vacation or something. Said he doesn’t want to stand in the way of the fans. Wants the work to speak for itself.”

**_king_rowena (he/him)_ **By killing Cas off and putting Dean in a shitty Hell 

**_king_rowena (he/him)_ **I mean

**_king_rowena (he/him)_ **Heaven

**_hellar-or-high-water_ ** Oh, it’s homophobic queerbaiting fridging-ass is speaking for itself.

**_king_rowena (he/him)_ **Yeah, yeah. Just wait until your thesis translates it, right?

**_hellar-or-high-water_ ** right on. ✊🏾

**_InezWinchester_ ** I still like how it ended with just the brothers.

**_ineededaurlsothisiswhatigot_ ** “FUCK YOU!”

**_hellar-or-high-water_** _GO TO YOUR CORNER_

**_king_rowena (he/him)_ **yEAH

**_king_rowena (he/him)_ **go to your corner and think about what you did ☠️☠️☠️

**_InezWinchester_ ** ...

**_king_rowena (he/him)_ **Fine. Whatever. You like Sam and Dean. 

**_king_rowena (he/him)_ **Everyone has their own series. 

**_king_rowena (he/him)_ **They really done did one to Cas and Dean, though.

**_InezWinchester_ ** Yeah. 

**_InezWinchester_ ** If I didn’t like the brothers, I can see how it’s not your barnyard wedding you made me read 50,000 words about.

**_ineededaurlsothisiswhatigot_ ** “Best beta reader.”

**_ineededaurlsothisiswhatigot_ 💯💯**

**_InezWinchester_ ** Sure. Whatever.

**_InezWinchester_ ** Can we get back to the story?

...

...

_I love you._

_Goodbye, Dean_.

**_king_rowena (he/him)_ **I met them once

**_king_rowena (he/him)_ **at a convention

**_ineededaurlsothisiswhatigot_ **“No, really.”

**_king_rowena (he/him)_ **Pretty sure it was them. 

**_king_rowena (he/him)_ **They were wearing flannel and looked disgusted at the whole thing. 

**_king_rowena (he/him)_ **Not that I blame them. 

**_king_rowena (he/him)_ **But normally people who think we’re the circus don’t show up in perfect cosplay. 

**_king_rowena (he/him)_ **Pretty sure they’d prefer to be in Hell.

**_hellar-or-high-water_ ** Pretty sure they’re fictional.

**_ineededaurlsothisiswhatigot_ ** “They’re not supposed to be. Their pictures were on FBI’s most-wanted lists for a few years before they died.”

**_InezWinchester_ ** What were they like?

**_king_rowena (he/him)_ **Pretty rude. 

**_king_rowena (he/him)_ **But I was dressed up like Crowley, so.........

**_ineededaurlsothisiswhatigot_ ** “Paranoid sons-of-bitches.”

**_king_rowena (he/him)_ **ha. right.

...

...

**_king_rowena (he/him)_ **Dean called me a twink.

**_ineededaurlsothisiswhatigot_ ** “We now know that was a complement.”

**_hellar-or-high-water_ ** Cas is not a twink.

**_king_rowena (he/him)_ **He got my gender right, though.

...

...

**_king_rowena (he/him)_ **Can’t believe he’s stuck up in Heaven right now.

**_ineededaurlsothisiswhatigot_ ** “You’re really stuck on this, aren’t you?”

**_king_rowena (he/him)_ 🤷♂️**

**_king_rowena (he/him)_ **Can’t help it. Dean was part of my masculine awakening.

**_InezWinchester_ ** That guy??

**_king_rowena (he/him)_ **Ha. Yeah. 

**_king_rowena (he/him)_ **Funny how these things happened. 

**_king_rowena (he/him)_ **I feel it for the Harry Potter fans.

**_InezWinchester_ ** Shiit.

**_hellar-or-high-water_ ** I always liked Tonks.

**_king_rowena (he/him)_ ** _..._

**_king_rowena (he/him)_ ** _..._

**_InezWinchester_ ** Dan, what?

**_king_rowena (he/him)_ **What if we, idonno

**_king_rowena (he/him)_ **wake them up 

**_king_rowena (he/him)_ **or something

**_InezWinchester_ ** Like what? Do some witchcraft?

**_ineededaurlsothisiswhatigot_ ** “Dude—Clowns—I love Destiel as much as anyone, but this is _not_ worth my soul.”

**_hellar-or-high-water_ ** What if there’s a ritual, or something?

**_king_rowena (he/him)_ **How are we going to find it?

**_InezWinchester_ ** Crazyrandomchance??

**_ineededaurlsothisiswhatigot_ ** “Heh. Yeah Inez. Crazy random chance. Let’s go grab some candles and salt and shit. Spill some blood. See if we can drag something together.”

𝄋 𝄋 DC 𝄋 𝄋

4 Hellers, determined not to go to Hell. 2 gallons of salt. 15 white candles. 1 stick of sage. A 6-pack of Coors (“not light. Dean would never stand for that.” “But he’s old now.” “He’s a chronic alcoholic. We’re gonna get him the good stuff.” “Coors is not the good stuff.” “Dean’s a cheap drunk. We’ll get him some whiskey or something if he shows up.” “I would hate to be the god you prayed to, Jess.”). A small jar of local honey. (“For Cas.” “Can’t we just get him Dean’s eyes.” “Yeaah. Dean should be the honeypot.”) Wrapped in flannel (“It’s Dean now.”). Set on the newest album of Taylor Swift.

Salt on the doors and windowsills. Copy signal illustrations from the book.

Spill a little blood.

(“I can’t believe you can order a silver dagger off of Amazon.”)

Sit in a circle. Candles burning. Sage burning. Legs crossed.

They felt like phoneys.

Stood up. Put on more plaid. Kai grabbed a tan trenchcoat. (It was their trenchcoat. They had worn it coming in.)

They settled back down again. Held hands. 

“Friends, Romans, countrymen...” Dan began.

“Wrong story,” Jess interrupted.

“ _K-kem._ okay you clowns. we’ve come here today because a couple of you gay disasters have gotten fridged, so the circus is here to preform a magic trick and raise you from perdition. _Again_. So, uh...Dean, uh...wake the fuck up, man. Use some of that hellar bisexual energy you’re always denying or something.” Dan cleared his throat, “—Does anyone know how to say that in Enochian?”

Kai dropped Jess' hand, raised theirs, “ _Noib_ clowns _. Ge blans niis kures kures bagle pala_ gay _osf geh_ fridged _, ar a_ circus _tia i kures de qaal ah_ magic _prdzar od farzm g lrasd_ perdition _._ Olani uml _._

“Dean, _torzu a_ fuck _farzm, cordziz. Qaal cor c ar_ hellar bisexual _bab g geh paid ge uran q cor qaa_. And, uh, Cas. I know happiness is in being, and I know you have to say it, but...being kissed is kinda nice too, right? Maybe you should try that. Getting a little happiness for yourself. Dean was still there after you turned into a mad god and killed a bunch of homophobes—thanks for that, by the way. That was my church—so I’m pretty sure he can stand being loved by you now.”

“Also,” Dan added, “Dean’s in danger. Thanks, literature major.”

“No problem.”

“So, uh...yeah. _farzm, cordziz g perdition_ or something,” Jess finished, “We’ve bought you drinks. Come back to being gay dads now.”

The candles sputtered and dripped wax into the short carpet.

“Do you think that worked?” Inez asked.

“Probably not,” Jess replied, “But it was fun. Cathartic or whatever. They should just get their bitch-asses down here again. We don’t have much power anyway.”

“We’re not Chuck or something,” Dan said.

“All I can do is write my thesis about it.”

“Cas wasn’t Chuck, and he still got to love Dean,” Jess reflected.

“Damn. Be gay. Kill god. Why don’t you,” Dan said.

“Even if they did show up, it would be a long way from here,” Kai said.

“Yeah,” Dan finished, started to snuff candles, “If we did our jobs, they wouldn’t even know we exist.”

“Now let’s go shit on this on twitter,” Kai said.

“Yeah!”

“Let’s see if we can get us trending higher than Putin again!”

“Do you think Chuck has a sex tape with Biden?”

“I bet he does.”


	2. Staring out an open window

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heaven had to have an end of the road somewhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...And now we see if the spell worked!

The smell of...was that Coors? Dean checked in the back seat. There was some Jack, a couple bottles of Jim Beam, but...Coors? Dean wasn’t sure the last time he’d drunk that. At least it didn’t smell like a light beer, though. He wasn’t Sammy. He wasn’t old enough for that shit.

He turned on the radio.

But...  _ “I didn’t know who I wanted to be until I saw you.” _

That’s strange. Is this an 8:30 Delilah confessional or something?

_ “Dean—” _

He didn’t recognize the voice. It was a man’s. A kinda high-pitched man’s. Probably some sort of twink.  _ “Look, man, I know you’re supposed to be content and all up there, ‘have peace when you’re done,’ or whatever. But you know you’re missing someth-thin-thi—” _

“ _ Shit. _ ” Dean fiddled with the dial. He was probably in the middle between North Dakota and Nebraska. The radio never stuck around he—

“ _ Dean, he said he loved you. I bet, when he wakes up from the Empty, or something, that he’s going to want to see you.” _ He? He who?

Where the fuck was the Empty.

His tire went flat.

He pulled over to the side of the road.

_ Huh _ . He thought,  _ I’m not mad about that. Even shit things in Heaven don’t feel like shit _ . The last sentence was a lie. Dean was becoming acutely aware, through the smell of Coors beer, and was that... _ honey? _ that he was feeling like shit. Just not about his tire. 

In fact, he was feeling like he was going to throw up. But he couldn’t. Everyone drank, but no one puked in Heaven. It was too clean for that.

His stomach felt like it hadn’t made it to Heaven, though. That it was crawling with worms and flies and the maggots were starting to bust out of the chest cavity left by his stab wound. That his stomach, and, now that he felt it, other parts of him, had never made it to the novacane of Heaven.

_ Oh shit. _ Now if only his brain or his memories could have never ended up here. Then he could have known what was  _ wrong _ . 

_ “S-sure,” _ the radio was staticing on a different voice. It was a girl, now,  _ “your life sucked. Sometimes, Dean, seeing your life made me feel like I was okay again. Like, if there was someone to dig you from literal  _ Hell, _ and you died and stuff, and you kept living, that maybe your life wasn’t all that bad. That maybe I could max out another credit card to pay for my mom’s rent, but that you had shit credit too and you didn’t care. That we could both get out of this. I want you to get out. I’m in college now.” _

A soft guitar started up on the radio.

It wasn’t coming from the radio.

_ ‘Gray November / I’ve been down since Ju-ly.’ _ Dean started crying. He wasn’t feeling anything, he was sure, but he was crying in Heaven.

He hadn’t heard this song before.

_‘Trying to find the one where I went wrong.’_ _“What would you have said to him,”_ the radio was saying, _“If he had a chance to come back? If Chuck and every writer in existence hadn’t screwed him and you over so royally.”_

_‘Writing letters / addressed to the fire.’_ _“Aren’t you mad about that?”_ He knew what he would have said, ‘I didn’t think—I didn’t think you could—I knew you did—love me like that. I didn’t know if I didn’t think you could or if I was too scared to.

‘I want that chance.

‘Don’t die on me again, sonofabitch.

‘My room tonight? Do you. you. want to stay in my room tonight?’ a casual, ‘it’s been long enough.’ See where it leads.

It could lead anywhere.

Dean was crying, he was smelling honey-sweet. He didn’t know why.

_ “Please?” _ the radio was pleading,  _ “You showed me what love is.” _

_ ‘I had a feeling so particular.’ _

He still couldn’t feel anything.

In his trunk, under the silver shotgun rounds and the angel blades, he had a spare tire.

He pulled out his cell phone (he had a cell phone now!). “Sammy, yeah, do you know how to break out of this joint?”

_ ‘(Is there a line that we can just go cross?)’ _

𝄋 𝄋 𝄋

A scent of honey wafted into his happiness. 

His...complete...happiness.

Cas realized.

Dean was not there.

His elongated final moment of complete happiness, of  _ being _ in happiness, of being in _ love  _ and letting Dean  _ know _ —stopped.

Is that...Taylor Swift?

He thought, in the Empty, there was supposed to be nothing. No good or bad to watch over or praise.

But, this was a new one. It was kind of...nice.

Not as nice as Dean.

But he could listen to it while he figured himself out.

_ ‘Hey, December,’ _

_ “uh, Cas. I know happiness is in being, and I know you have to say it, but...being kissed is kinda nice too, right? Maybe you should try that. Getting a little happiness for yourself.” _ Taylor Swift’s voice sang out. It wasn’t Taylor Swift. It was some entity, he was pretty sure, using her voice. He would be curious to hear the actual lyrics when he got out. If he got out.

_ ‘I rewind the tape, but all it does is pause’ _

He didn’t want to confront Dean.

_ “Dean was still there after you turned into a mad god and killed a bunch of homophobes—” _ That was true. __

_ “—thanks for that, by the way. That was my church—” _ The entity who was speaking to him was probably some sort of human, then.

_ ‘on the very moment all was lost.’ _

Who wanted him to go back.

He didn’t want to go back.

He wasn’t sure what he was scared of, now. Dean was hopefully, probably, alright. He hoped. He needed to know for sure.

He knew he had to go back.

He was always going back.

But he didn’t want to.

_ ‘Is there a line that I could just go cross?’ _

_ “—so I’m pretty sure he can stand being loved by you now.” _

Cas swears.

_ “Also,” _ a second voice,  _ “Dean’s in danger.” _

_ “I’M AWAKE.”  _ A voice that could shatter glass calls out to the Empty,

_ “ARE YOU GOING TO LET ME OUT NOW?” _

𝄋 𝄋 𝄋

Sammy wasn’t coming. “C’mon, Sammy. Why not?”

“Dean, I’m happy up here.” Dean slammed his beer. Some light shit. 

“Your son is down there! They’re brainwashing you! Heaven sucks, man.” Held up the beer as proof.

“Yeah, Dean, and where is dad?”

“He’s in the next room,” he replied. Dad could hear them through the doorway, but he’d matured enough to know to keep out. Sam nodded.

“It was rough when he wasn’t here for us, Dean—”

“—No shit—”

“But we needed it,” Sam picked up his drink, “I don’t know what my son could be without me.” stared into the middle distance; Dean knew he was looking to Earth. Watching Jr. grow into something that his father, that Sammy, could never let him be. That was fucking weird. He had a “Jr.” named after  _ him _ . Dean wondered what bitch could have made that mistake.

He also knew his little brother was talking about Cas.

_ ‘...on waves, out being tossed’ _

Dean couldn’t get that stupid Taylor Swift song out of his head.

_ ‘In the cracks of light—’ _

He’d have to tell Cas once he got down there. And somehow drug him out.

Cas was supposed to be perfectly happy. He hadn’t wanted to ruin the moment.

But he was pretty sure now he could make it up to him.

_ ‘Floors of a cabin creaking under my step.’ _

“Bitch,” he settled for.

“Jerk.”

That was their way of ‘keep well.’ And ‘feel free to use that revolving door out of Heaven, sometime. Visit the angel and the kids.’

_ ‘I had a feeling so peculiar.’ _

Heaven sucks anyway.

Dean left the shitty light beer on Sammy’s counter.

Heard the rattling of the screen door behind him.

Started up Baby’s engine.

Heaven had to have an end of the road somewhere.


	3. And I was catching my breath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean knew it was the right house. Dean knew it was the right house because he drove out of Heaven straight to it.
> 
> His family.
> 
> Or, what was left of it, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back!
> 
> I've updated the tags accordingly. 
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> 𝄋

“Um...” A fucking white picket fence.

Dean knew it was the right house. Dean knew it was the right house because he drove out of Heaven straight to it.

His family.

Or, what was left of it, anyway.

Baby was smoking slightly against a tree.  _ Shit. _ That hurt. Half a dozen apocalypses, and he’d have to straighten out baby’s hood for a fucking  _ tree _ . And her gas tank was empty.

_ ‘And when I thought I was shipwrecked’ _ The radio was still playing, though. He was going to really have to share this with Cas when they got home.

And, believe Dean, they were going home.

Back to the fucking white picket fence.

And the dark-haired man who was standing on the fucking-classic wrap-around porch. Complete with chain-link swing.

“Um...” he smelled Coors again. In fact, for some reason, he was dripping with the stuff. Figured it must be magic or djinn shit. No honey though. “You must be Dean,” he said, “Sam’s kid.”

“You knew my father?” the man replied. That must be weird. His shoulders were tense and he was touching his wrist, but his sleeves were rolled up, so it must just be a tick.

“Yeah. Can I come in? I uh...” he waved at his beer-sodden clothes, “some magic or djinn shit or something. I’ve got some stuff in the car—I swear I’m not—”

Dean— _ Jr. _ —stepped away from the door, “I’m not inviting you in.” That was,  _ I don’t know what you are or what saying ‘yes’ to you might do to me. My father taught me not to let things like you in. But I’ll entertain you for a bit if you can pass my salt-laced threshold. _

“Sure,” Dean replied, “I’ll just—” he went back to Baby to switch off the radio, grab the booze, a spare set of clothes from the trunk.

_ ‘I dreamed of you’ _

He turned the radio dial all the way down.

It didn’t help with the volume.

_ ‘It was real enough’ _ He shrugged. He’d been cursed with worse than Taylor Swift. At least it wasn’t  _ Reputation _ . Cas had played the track once, and they’d both tacitly agreed her last album was  _ 1989 _ . Until Cas had started pointedly playing  _ Lover _ , and, come to think of it, Dean couldn’t take a hint.

He threw the duffle over his shoulder and climbed up the front porch.

_ ‘To get me through’ _

_ Cas, _ he prayed,  _ get your feathery ass down here. _

And, to tempt him, 

_ I have something to say. _

𝄋 𝄋 𝄋

Cas stared at the light through the broken rafters.

_ Cas _ , where all this began,  _ Get your feathery ass down here _ . He could feel Dean pray. Could feel the hope and desperation and something else he was holding back pouring through those words, holding back on purpose.

_ I have something to say. _ The tease.

He was absolutely holding back on purpose.

Cas knew.

He was down here. Again. There was a gas station several miles away. And he could probably still hotwire a car.

𝄋 𝄋 𝄋

“So,” Jr. said, “You’re a friend of my dad’s.” He was digging through his fridge for beers.

So far, the kid wasn’t finding any.

“Get down a water glass,” Dean raised his glass bottle, “we’ll have some of this. Did Sammy never introduce you to whisky?”

Jr. shook his head, “No,” the radio turned on.

_ ‘Barefoot in the wildest winter.’ _

Jr. and Dean stared at the crooning speakers. “You know you’re cursed with Taylor Swift, right?”

“Yup.”

Jr. itched his arm. Dean could see, under his fingernails, there was an anti-possession tattoo. At least Sammy had gotten him that.

It was like the kid was waiting for Dean to say something.

“Go get those glasses and I’ll come back changed.”

Now if he could find the bathroom.

𝄋 𝄋 𝄋

Dean knew his father’s friends got up to some things. They were the sort of guys that, when they showed up, it was always after school when he should have been to bed anyways. His dad would ruffle his hair and mutter, “why don’t you go play some video games?” on a weeknight.

If Dean kept his headphones off, he could hear the clanking of some glasses. And lots of words he shouldn’t have known the names for yet, like  _ shit  _ and  _ fuck _ and  _ angel _ . Dean hadn’t said them around his dad.

His dad had always woken up late, after, looking really old.

Dean got down the water glasses. He had wondered what they talked about. Not enough to really listen in, or try hunting himself.

He always thought his father didn’t want him to really know.

The men that kept visiting dad kept telling him to stay in school. They looked like mugshots on the news. Some of them, he had even recognized. Dean really listened. All the way through his CPAs and MBA.

Dean’s sure his dad would have talked about it, if Dean’d asked.

Sometimes, though, there had been mention of a werewolf or ‘went to Hell’ and Dean’d been young enough to not quite know what they meant, but old enough to know that they were really scary.

And then he had come back from college and his dad was probably too old to remember anyways, and he had looked content in his old age, and Dean figured that, if his dad hadn’t said anything already, he had wanted the secrets to die with him.

But it had been a couple years since his dad was gone, and Dean had finally started stepping his toes from terrified into curious.

When the haggard man from the bathroom came back, maybe he would find out what they said.

The clothes the hunter came out with were about the same as when he went in. It was like a uniform: Jeans, tee, flannel.

The radio with Ms. Swift started turning up again,  _ ‘That this pain would be for / Evermore.’ _ That was one weird curse. And the man in front of him treated it like it was nothing.

Or maybe that it was nice that the radio was playing it. Like Mr. Lumberjack was a Swiftie or something.

Good thing the ball and chain and Sam Jr. were on a ‘bonding vacation’.

_ ‘And I couldn’t be sure / I had a feeling so peculiar.’ _

“So,” he tried again, “you know my dad.”

The man nodded.

Poured out the whiskey into the water glass.

“Can I borrow a car?” the man asked, “Mine’s uh...” he glanced out the window. It was still smoking against that tree. Probably blasting Taylor Swift. Or maybe it had followed his cursed visitor inside. Dean didn’t know how Taylor Swift curses worked.

“No,” Dean replied, “Not without telling me something about my dad.” It was probably fruitless. The man would probably walk off, dark and mysterious, somehow followed by Taylor Swift and still dark and mysterious, and Dean would wake up to his hotwired car, without even a name to tell the cops.

His visitor took a sip of his drink. Just a sip. He looked like he was taking it slow. “Sure. What would you like to know?”

“What do you know about him?” Dean countered. He wanted to know the field. Wanted to know what he could ask for.

“Everything. He says to tell you ‘hi,’ by the way. And that he loves you and is watching and stuff,” 

_ ‘Can’t not think of all the cost / And all the things that will be lost’ _ the man finishes his drink.

“You’ve seen him recently?”

His visitor nodded. Poured another glass. “Just came from there.”  _ ‘...we’ll be tall again’ _

Dean blinked.  _ What? _ This guy was looking pretty drunk for a ghost. Or trying to get that way.  _ Is this guy an angel? They could drink a lot, right? _

“Thought Heaven was a one-way street.” Then, a fear, “Dad’s in heaven, right?”

His guest shook his head, “Revolving door. And yeah. Sorry kid. Heaven sucks.”

Dean was getting a creeping feeling. From this strange man who smelled like sweat and stale beer and a little bit of honey and was dressed in the uniform like the Guardian Angel of Hunters. Who wasn’t late Uncle Cas, of course.

A man who, now that he saw him under kitchen-table light, looked like old photographs.

“What—” Dean coughed, took his first sip of whiskey. Coughed over the burn. He was sticking with beer. “What is your name?”

“Dean,” his visitor said, “Dean Winchester.” Smiled over his water glass half-filled with whiskey. Raised it, pointed the amber liquid towards his host, “Jr.”

_ ‘I’m on waves, out being tossed’ _

Dean Jr. tried to pick his jaw off his kitchen floor. In front of his supposedly-dead uncle.

“We Winchesters have a habit of doing that, huh? Now,” he leaned back on his brushed-metal swivel-chair, “What would you like to know about Sammy?”

_ ‘Is there a line I could just go cross?’ _

𝄋 𝄋 𝄋

The song was going from pleasant to overplayed. And it was just the one. It came in bits-and-pieces over the radio, and Cas was certain it was going to be one of his favorite songs. Once he was able to break it up with something else. 

_You should see Jr.’s expression._ Dean prayed. A kind of quiet, domestic longing he’d gotten used to when they were on opposite sides of the bunker and Jack completed his latest project, or Sam had released another abomination in the library. _You should be here,_ it was saying, _instead of the other side of our house._ _In Kansas, instead of driving from Sioux Falls_. 

_ ‘Whether weather be the frost / Or the violence of the dog days.’ _

_ I would like to meet him, sometime, _ he prayed back, even though he knew Dean couldn’t hear him,  _ I believe I’ve been cursed with Taylor Swift _ .

_ ‘I thought of you (All the things that will be lost now)’ _

_ It will probably become one of my favorites. _ It was the thought that counted.

He’d tell him once they met at the Bunker.

Like he was sure Dean would tell him everything else.

𝄋 𝄋 𝄋

“Sammy taught you fuck-all, you know,” Dean was about half-a-bottle in. And Jr. had learned things about his father that he knew no son should ever know. Including his father’s opinions on the pizza man. Dean was just enough drinks in to get a fresh liver sozzled. His liver from Heaven’s always fresh. Cas had done a better job re-creating it, though.

“Dad—”

Dean swiped a small blade at him. Jr. didn’t twitch far enough to get out of the way. Swiped it over his skin too.

They had matching, thin red streaks. “I could have been a shapeshifter.” He walked over to the sink.

Started running the water in his glass. Waved a hand over it.

Tossed half in Jr.’s face. Poured the rest over his head.

Both affectations did nothing, except make them both slightly damp.

Dean tore off a couple paper towels. “Holy water. I could have been possessed by something.” He half-shrugged, running the paper through his slightly-sticky hair. “Could still be an angel. But you don’t have any holy fire ‘round here. Unless it’s with Sammy’s stuff.”

“We’ve been talking for four hours.”

Dean sat back on the kitchen’s swivel chair. “Like I said, Sammy did a shit job in getting you to protect yourself.” Jerked a finger at Jr.’s arm. “He at least had you get that, though. Probably wanted to know whether he was talking to his son.

“Do you have Sammy’s old journals?”

Jr. shook his head. He was looking at his water glass. Filled with water. He was thinking that whiskey was looking good. But he didn’t think his uncle would let him get to that.

“They’re probably still in the Bunker.” Dean stood up, “I’ll bring them to you once I dig them out.” He snorted, “I’m pretty sure we’ve got some from  _ high school _ .” Smiled.

_ ‘And I was catching my breath’ _

His uncle strode over to the little dish where he kept his keys. “Damn,” he was whispering into the glass plate, “You’ve got a kid. Gotta tell me about him sometime.” picked up the keys. Took a breath, turned towards his nephew, “hope you’ll let him visit his uncle. Promise to keep it above-ground and stick to beer, if you do.”

“I’ll ask Inez.”

“Inez.”

“She’s on a mother-son weekend with little Sam this weekend.”

“Little—fuck,” even quieter, “‘least you didn’t name another one after me.”

“I like your name,” Jr. said. Loud enough it was awkward and caused Sr. to stop, “I didn’t understand it. As far as I can tell, I would hate to live the way you lived—live. But...Dad loved you, and I’m glad I could have something of yours. Even if I didn’t meet you until today.”

_ ‘Staring out an open window’ _ the radio crooned. Slightly louder, now that Dean was not directly in the kitchen.

“When I’m followed by this fucking Taylor Swift curse.”

Jr. laughed. “That too.”

Dean grunted. “Well, see you ‘round,” he reached for the door knob, “people to do, places to be.”

_ ‘Catching my death’ _

“Wait!”

“Huh?”

“Stay the night.”

“What?”

“You can’t drive like that.” he had already smelled like beer, and there was 1/4 of a formerly-full bottle of Jack on his kitchen table.

“Believe me, Jr. I’ve driven worse.”

“It’s not safe.”

“I’ve got to—”

“Whatever it is, it can wait one night. You drove to my place into a tree.”

He could see Dean cringe. He could probably see broken Baby through his molted door glass.

_ Sorry, Cas. _ he prayed,  _ It’ll be another day. Apparently I can’t miracle myself sober. _

He’d like to think he could feel Cas’ forgiveness.

_ ‘And I couldn’t be sure’ _

“Inez’s gone for tonight and the next two days. Come on, uncle,”  _ uncle _ —now that was just fucking strange—“we have an extra bedroom. Dad used to stay there.”

He found it funny his uncle didn’t ask about his dad’s last days. But maybe he had seen, up in Heaven. Maybe he didn’t want to know.

“Sure, Jr.,” he returned to the kitchen, “let me tell you the time your father and I starred in Dr. Sexy. 

“Did they have the series finale, yet?” 

Jr. groaned.

_ ‘...this pain would be for / Evermore.’ _

𝄋 𝄋 𝄋

_ Sorry Cas, _ he heard Dean pray,  _ It’ll be another day.  _

_ Apparently I can’t miracle myself sober. _

Cas was already returning a prayer of forgiveness.

He pulled over at a truck stop.

_ ‘Can we just get a pause?’ _

He would like to think Dean could feel it.


	4. I had a feeling so peculiar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _ This morning, _ Cas knew, was  _ the _ morning.   
>  __  
>  He pulled the lever to reset his seat.   
>  __  
>  ‘Is there a line we can just go cross?’   
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! 
> 
> Short, (quasi) filler chapter today -- I'll have our conclusion posted tomorrow (Friday), and then the last planned chapter will be the epilogues (where, yes, there will be a wedding :) ).

They were standing in front of his wife’s little white Subaru. 

“This is a travesty,” his uncle proclaimed. There were still soccer balls and a zip-up blue cooler in the backseat.

The windows were half-rolled down. _‘Barefoot in the wildest winter’_

“It has the fewest miles.”

His uncle grunted. Took out baby’s keys. 

“Can you order these parts for when I get back?” Sr. handed him a junk-envelope list.

“Sure,” Dean replied, “Who do I call when I don’t know what-the-fuck this is?”

“I’ll roll around in my grave,” Dean dropped a pair of duffle bags on the driveway. They clattered like they’re full of nails. Or shotguns. Or shovels. He scribbled down a number, “Leave a message. Might not pick up.”

“Thanks. What’s the rush?” His uncle picked back up his bags.

_‘I dreamed of you of you (To be certain we'll be tall again, if you think of all the costs) / It was real enough (Whether weather be the frost)’_

“Got something I have to say.”

𝄋 𝄋 DC 𝄋 𝄋 

_‘I rewind the tape, but all it does is pause / On the very moment all was lost / Sending signals’_

That song, Dean decided, was fucking annoying.

He wished he’d at least hear the strangers over the radio, even if they knew too much about him and talked about his feelings too much.

He made it to the Bunker before nightfall.

𝄋 𝄋 DC 𝄋 𝄋 

“It's 9:00am,” Dan said, _chank-_ ing another heavy bottle into a canvas recycling bag, “You know ridiculous drinking was supposed to be a character flaw.” 

“Bite me. It’s my _off_ time,” Jess replied between sips that were closer to shots.

“I mean, I know I’m the one who took after Dean, male-awakening, living in a basement, hunting, TV producing and all that, but staying _away_ from them and not expressing your emotions is just gonna get you swallowed by black goo.”

Jess’ hand made a swirly, floppy motion. She stared at the popcorned concrete.

“Fine, other way. _Kai_ would get swallowed by ridiculous black goo, and then where would _you_ be?”

Jess looked up from his couch.

Dan looked down at her. Adjusted his Henley. “Point. Right where you are. Great character development. Write your own cul-de-sad-sac.”

Dan looked at the blank screen. Pulled out a green vinyl. 

“Seriously?”

Dan tipped his head, “Vinyl is forever. And if you’re going to go all Dean Winchester...” he smiled. The record scratched onto _Evermore_.

Jess groaned. Flopped the tartan pillow over her head. Tears started to leak into it. “You know I hate...Swift,” she dug her face into the couch. Dan counted it as a win. Two wins. She wasn’t drinking anymore _and_ classic Swift. (To be honest, Dan was more nostalgic than in-love with the particular album. It brought up a particular time for him, a long time ago. Now, now he kept it around mostly for his sister. If one of his best college friends was tortured by it, all the better.)

“...It must be Tuesday.”

“Nope. It’s Friday. Yesterday was Thursday.”

“...eghn.

“They said they needed me.”

“They do, Jess. They really do.”

“I wish they had said something else.”

Dan settled down atop his friend’s feet to watch her and listen to the album.

𝄋 𝄋 DC 𝄋 𝄋 

_This morning_ , Cas knew, was _the_ morning.

He pulled the lever to reset his seat.

_‘Is there a line we can just go cross?’_

“I love you.” He said it again.

Smiled.

There _was_ happiness in being it.

He was looking forward to that happiness with Dean.

He started the ignition.

𝄋 𝄋 DC 𝄋 𝄋 

Dan’s head _thunk_ ed the wall behind their couch. “Pie! We forgot pie!”

“Well, let’s hope it worked,” Jess said; she had taken her well-earned vacation days to visit an old friend, “Man, I haven’t thought of that in years.”

“That was a crazy decade.”

“Let’s be honest—we've had crazy _lives_.” It was good, she thought, just to visit an old friend. Someone who knew even a quarter of the shit they got up to. Someone who wasn’t...

“That Coors sat in the fridge for months,” she said into the couch, “ _Everyone_ refused to drink it.”

“Like Dean would suddenly walk through the door requiring his libations or something,” Dan waved a hand toward their imaginary, resurrected houseguest. The new god of classic cars, cheap booze, flannel, and emotional expression through silence and classic rock, stumbling into his first basement apartment. Followed by the guardian angel of trench coats, pining, and dying-as-love-confessions. (And, of course, Dean. Always Dean. If angels were supposed to be watching over him, Castiel had clearly refused to let anyone else take a shift.)

While her friend clearly waited for the second coming of the fathers of God, Jess checked her phone. “Weren’t we supposed to buy him whiskey?” 

“If he showed up. Really, everyone knew the Coors sucked.” 

Jess thought of Kai’s expression when they finally broke into the pack. “You’re right. I haven’t thought of that in _years_ ,” she gazed at her phone, “He _would_ have wanted the pie. Apple.” 

Dan nodded. _Kai’s_ favorite. As much as he would have wanted it, it was clear that Dean never had apple-pie-anything. He touched her arm. “Do we want to pick some up?”

She looked up. “Why not.”

...

...

“Cas would have gotten him pie.”

𝄋 𝄋 DC 𝄋 𝄋 

An old green Jeep rattled through the gravel. Its engine clattered and coughed like it should have died in Nebraska, sacrificed to an absent god of Craigslist scrap parts. The roadside vendor looked up from their roll-out keyboard, past the brown paper bags filled with apples and little glass jars of honey with tartan-wrapped lids. 

(Each jar contained a piece of honeycomb.)

They rolled their broad shoulders, brushed the gravel and receipt debris from their flowing (black), glittery skirt.

The Jeep's driver opened the vehicle's door.

_'It was real enough'_

_Interesting_ , the vendor thought, _I haven't heard that one in years. Since—_

The radio began to blare from the vendor’s phone. 

_‘(Whether weather be the frost)’_

The goth vendor (and former _(still)_ hellar) looked down to their phone. 

“How much are the apples?” Asked their client. A middle-aged accountant in a trench coat. They didn’t like to assume, but their client looked a bit like a dad. He ( _?_ ) was covered in dust and had bits of straw in his hair. 

The seller's phone volume increased.

_‘to get me through’_

“$5.95 a pound. Our honey is $7.00 each,” they replied. The jars were set up next to a colorful poster encouraging the viewer to BEE PROUD.

The seller checked their phone. _0 messages_. No one called.

_‘(or the violence of the dog days)’_

“I, um, like your shoelaces.”

“Thank you,” their customer replied, passing over a $20 from a creased envelope, “Oh,” he said, like the customer was flipping through a script for confusing situations. Listening to a long-sent exasperated prayer. _JUST COMPLEMENT THEM BACK, CAS. Can’t go wrong with a complement._ “Your shoelaces also seem,” the man glanced below the table. Shiny (black) velcro tabs shone back at him, but it seemed like their customer had already navigated halfway through his reply, and decided lying magnificently was the better part of valor, “—functional."

"I did not acquire them from any heads of state."

"Oh. That's good," their customer replied, "keep the change. Excuse me, I should be elsewhere. I should be in Kansas.”

It could just be a random guy...

_‘(I’m on waves, out being tossed)’_

A little _ping_ came over the melody.

Kai looked down at their phone. [ _pic: A cardboard-boxed slice of apple pie._ ] _Look what we picked up. Some memories._ Frowned. They ran a hand across their hair.

“Is that your romantic partner?” The man asked.

“Yeah, she’s off on vacation. Discovering herself.”

“It is quite likely she will return again.”

“Still, I want to have her here, you know?” Kai smiled a little bit, “To be able to kiss her...tell her what I didn’t before she left.”

“I’m sure she knows.”

“Yeah,” Kai looked down at the tartan lids for the honey jars, “by now. But there’s something about hearing it. About letting her know. I know loving is the important thing. Being love and showing that love. And she does that. She does that to me to the moon and back. Loves me to bits. But, maybe it’s nice to let the other person know they don’t _just_ have to love. They don’t just have to _be_. That some of their love shines back on them too. And that part of love is receiving it; it’s not just all self-sacrificial bullshit and who could not-live without each other.”

“You never got to say it.”

Kai shook their head, “haven’t said it back. Tried back in grad school, but—that’s another story.

“Would you like a bag for that?”

The music disappeared with him, leaving the smells of ozone and salt and sage. (They couldn’t pick out the honey.) The Jeep's door closed. Their phone speakers cut off. They could hear the music pouring from the sides of the Jeep.

_..._

_..._

_In: The Originals (Groupchat (dormant))_

**_hellar-or-high-water_** _: pPL YOU WILL NOT BELIEVE WHO jUST BOuGHT HONEY FROM ME._

**_hellar-or-high-water_** _: IM PRETTY SURE HE STOLE A JEEP._

...

...

**To: Jessbee 🐝 🐝**

_[pic: Scattered apple bags and tartan honey]_

_Call me tonight._

_I have something to say._


	5. Evermore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean heard sizzling under the speakers. The air smelt of honey and forbidden fruits.
> 
> _‘And I was catching my breath’_
> 
> “Hey honey,” Dean said, “I’m home.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised! The last plot-arc-y chapter!
> 
> Thank you so much everyone for reading/commenting/kudoing!!!
> 
> We'll have one last chapter of codas (posted either Sunday or next Thursday, depending on my writing speed), and that'll be the fic!
> 
> I have a few more ideas for this universe's continuing adventures, so I made this a series. The next installments likely won't be out for a bit, though...

Dean pushed away the cobwebs with the Bunker door. He inhaled, exhaled stale air, somehow tinged with sage and stale Coors.

Dean’s boots grated against salt. 

_ ‘all it does is pause’ _

He re-poured the threshold.

_ 'On the very moment all was lost’ _

The music droned from old TV speakers as he passed, from little portable kitchen radio. Sam’s coffee mug was still drying beside the sink. The industrial cold-war light tubes spit and flickered through the spiderwebs.

_ It looks like Sam went on a hunt. _ Dean absently prayed. He wondered if Jr. had even stepped back in to tidy up.

Dean grabbed a broom.

He started with his bedroom. 

The door was locked, but he remembered the spare key.

_ ‘It was real enough’ _ The music followed him through the glass of an ancient grandfather clock,

_ ‘To get me through’ _

Re-started through his TV. His old laptop. 

_ ‘I swear (Is there a line we can just go cross?)’ _

Dean stared at his musty bedsheets. The cobwebs criss-crossing over his hanging guns. The layers of photo albums and bedstand dust. He figured he had a couple hours yet. Imagined what it might look like when he was done. He sent the imagined image as a benediction.  _ I bless this space with his feathery ass. _

Or, he prayed he will.

_ ‘You were there’ _

𝄋 𝄋 DC 𝄋 𝄋 

In the bathroom, the fucking music poured out of the showerhead.

_ ‘...feeling so peculia—’ _

The track skips.

_ ‘Gray November...’ _

𝄋 𝄋 DC 𝄋 𝄋 

Dean put down the broom. Stepped past the kitchen threshold. The portable kitchen radio became louder.

Dean heard sizzling under the speakers. The air smelt of honey and forbidden fruits.

_ ‘And I was catching my breath’ _

“Hey honey,” Dean said, “I’m home.” 

A man-shaped, accountant-shaped being stood over a single gas burner. His hair and dusty trenchcoat had bits of hay.

“Hello Dean.” Cas looked up from the saucepan. Sniffed the stale air. Cocked his head. “I believe, in this scenario, you’re meant to be the honey...pot.” Dean was covered in sweat and cobwebs and any honey he might have smelt like was covered up by two-score Clorox and Windex.

_ ‘and I couldn’t be sure’ _

Cas unscrewed a tartan-covered lid. Set the little red-and-black flannel square beside the jar. Dipped in a spoon. Fished around a honeycomb.

“You prayed you had something to say.”

“You made me a better liver,” Dean replied, “than, you know.” Dean passed his hand over his middle, “4.0.” He thought it was four. 

Cas looked up from the open jar. Dean missed that shade of blue. The sky was always too light or too dark in Heaven; Dean hadn’t realized until he was staring now. “Got woken up by some magic shit,” Dean continued. For something to fill the too-sweet air. “Drenched in Coors, for some reason. Had to pick up another ride.”

“It is a very sexy car.” Cas drizzled the honey. Pushed the ingredients back-and-forth.

“You think so? Apparently Jr. sometimes takes the kid to soccer practice.”

“I would like to meet him sometime.”

_ ‘I had a feeling so peculiar’  _ “Yeah, he—Shit. Is that—”

Was that...apples?

Cas turned the sliced fruit. “The recipe called to sauté the apples before pouring them into the crust.” 

Dean nodded. They watched the apples sizzle in the pan. The oven was warm on his hips. Cas turned off the burner. Poured it into a pressed crust.

_ ‘and I couldn’t be sure’ _

“Sammy said ‘hi’. And, uh, other things,” Dean stopped. He wanted the words to be his own. 

_ ‘I had a feeling so peculiar’ _

Casual. “I uh...just got done cleaning the bedroom.” Set the mug on a stack of plates.

_ Don’t die on me again, _ he prayed, _ sonofabitch. _

Cas froze.

Okay. Maybe not so casual.

“I mean,” Dean said, “My room. Haven’t checked out yours. You’ve probably got a happy little family of spiders bunking in there.”

“I had some living before.”

“Mm.”

They stood between the heat of the oven. 

Taylor Swift poured out of their little twist-dial radio.

_ ‘Evermore’ _

“Do you even know this song?” Dean asked.

“I do now.” 

“Uh, yeah. Kept pouring out of Jr.’s fancy clock radio. Even when I unplugged the thing. Some summons.  _ Heh _ . Don’t really listen to this kind of music. Teenage-girl pop. 

“Got pretty hard to ignore. Had to pick up the tune at some point.”  _ Even _ , he confessed, _ if you were real dense _ . “I don’t understand; why isn’t it going away?”

Cas furrowed his brow, leaned back against the counter. “It seemed to be some spell of summoning.”

“We’re here, aren’t we? I mean, it’s gotta be us.”

“The farmer who supplied the apples seemed surprised it was emitting from their cell phone.”

“Oh, right. Just us, then. I mean, it isn’t hurting anyone.”

“I think it will become one of my favorites,” Cas smiled, “once I listen to something else.”

“Yeah,” Dean rubbed his face, “Maybe the rest of the album.”

_ ‘That this pain wouldn’t be for’ _

“We can do that.”

“Yeah. Gotta set back up wi-fi. Do you think they have 6-G in the future?” 

“I’m sure Jr. will be able to help. He has already lent you his vehicle.”

“Right,” Casual. “Are you—Are you happy.”

The smell of honey and apples was filling the kitchen.

Cas twitched. “Of course. I love you.” Like he said it every morning. Like he had said it this morning, when he woke up at the truck stop in the back of his stolen Jeep. Even when Dean couldn’t hear him. 

_ ‘Evermore’ _

“Are you?”

“Yeah Cas. Of course I am. Always have been. What do you say? It's in being.

“Whatever—however—you want to give me.”

_ ‘...Evermore’ _ the song trails off...restarts.

_ ‘Gray November’ _

“I—I’m here now.” Dean swallowed. _You were going for casual._ _Jeez. This is Cas._ Who once showed up naked covered in _bees_.

The honey got sweeter with baking.

He was trying for casual.

Maybe he would try after pie.

𝄋 𝄋 DC 𝄋 𝄋 

They had had pie. Which was delicious and sweet and the no-prep graham cracker crust supplied the cinnamon that had gotten a little dull after spending 20 years sitting in the Bunker’s cabinets. 

(“We’re going to have to re-buy spices.”)

They were doing dishes. Dean washing. Cas drying. Him passing the Pyrex onto Cas.

They had eaten pie in silence. Ms. Swift crooning at her pre-determined volume from the little radio.

_ ‘Sending signals’ _

“My room tonight?” Dean said, “Do you. you. want to stay in my room tonight?” He slipped the half-scrubbed plate under the too-warm water and soap, “It’s been long enough.” See where it leads.

He looked to his right. 

Cas was smiling at him. A smile he hadn’t seen since they were underground and running for their lives and Cas was making another sacrifice to save Dean and his family and the rest of the universe’s asses. Again. It felt like forever and just days ago. For them, it kind of was, even if the world had moved on. “Of course, Dean.”

Dean finished the dishes.

No sense in leaving them.

“And—me too, Cas. Me too.” There. He said it.

_ ‘And I was catching my breath’ _

Dried his hands on an old kitchen towel.

_ ‘I had a feeling so peculiar’ _

He took Cas’ hand. “Let’s see where this goes.”

_ ‘This pain wouldn’t be for evermore / Evermore’ _

𝄐 𝄐 DC 𝄐 𝄐

They stared at the dark ceiling. Listened to the whirr and rattle of the Bunker’s air filtration system. To the catch of each other’s breaths. Their bedroom was otherwise silent.

“Dean?”

“Yeah, Cas?” Dean nuzzled into Cas’ neck.

“Why didn’t we do this sooner?”

“I dunno. We’re probably angel married anyways.”

“We aren’t.”

“Oh,” Dean looked over through the darkness, “Is that a thing?”

“Of course, Dean.”

“Cool. Cool. Can we do that?”

He felt Cas’ fingers slide through his hair. “Nothing would make me happier.”

“I feel like I should go on a knee or something.”

He rolled atop of Cas.

“Well,” Cas nuzzled his throat, “There’s something you can go on.”

“Yeah?” He caught Cas’ breaths (a feeling so peculiar) laughed across his lips, “Love you, Cas.”

“And I you, Dean.

“And I, you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter Translations (via [A Passable Enochian Translator](https://lingojam.com/APassableEnochianTranslator)):  
> Noib clowns. Ge blans niis kures kures bagle pala gay osf geh fridged, ar a circus tia i kures de qaal ah magic prdzar od farzm g lrasd perdition. Olani uml.—yes clowns. we’ve come here today because two (sepparated) gay disasters have gotten fridged, so the circus is here to create a magic trick and raise you from perdition. Again.  
> Dean, torzu a fuck farzm, cordziz. Qaal cor c ar hellar bisexual bab g geh paid ge uran q cor qaa—Dean, rise the fuck up, man. Create some of that hellar bisexual energy you are always not see[ing] or something  
> farzm, cordziz g perdition—raise man from perdition
> 
> unbeta'ed.


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